plot REVIEW TOM WAITS AT ...

plot REVIEW

TOM WAITS

AT auditorium theatre

A parcel can change in seven years: A someone can become barely recognizable as his former self and in like manner can a city.

At united point during his generous, more than two-hour point out Wednesday night at a sold-out Auditorium Theatre, Tom Waits riffed onward the long-gone fleabag hotel where he stayed during his first visit to Chicago, in subordination to the L at Belmont and Sheffield -- a neighborhood that was gentrified uniform before his last gig here in 1999 still that wasn't the change that bothered the 56-year-old singer and songwriter the mostly

"Here's the deal: What happened to the cows?" Waits rasped. "Was there a board meeting I wasn't informed about?"

It's a shame that Waits doesn't tour more oftentimes -- "You don't want to oversaturate the market," he told the populace last weekend in Nashville, Tenn which he hadn't visited in three decades -- because he's a performer who is best appreciated live, especially at this stage in his career. on a level the slightest material from his newly come albums takes on new dimensions as he channels the eccentric and sometimes threatening characters that populate his proper moods using subtle shifts in his baritone croak and striking flamboyant poses that elicit the movements of a spastic puppeteer

Performing in assurance of a minimal stage station that nevertheless evoked a sprawling junkyard, Waits effronteryed an extraordinary six- piece band that included his son Casey forward drums, Larry Taylor on upright bass, Bent Clausen forward keyboards and vibes and Duke Robillard forward guitar. But the set was heavy upon fractured, art-damaged blues -- a good that his under-heralded influence Captain Beefheart always did better -- at the expenditure of the wider sonic palette the band was capable of employing.

Waits rarely breaks character when he performs: He's the genius philosopher who happens to be living as a Skid altercation alcoholic, equally prone to numbers or murder. It's a persona his fans adore, and a certain number of even came dressed as their hero. The puzzle is that through the first half of his career and in succession his best albums -- "Swordfishtrombones" (1983) "Heartattack and Vine" (1980) "Small Change" (1976) -- Waits also gave us other characters that were smooth more intriguing and artistically rewarding, especially the understated nevertheless brilliant barroom balladeer.

We heard far too little of that Waits upon Wednesday, though it was great when we did. The artist sat at a half-size grand piano to perform a riveting version of "Tom Traubert's Blues" which would assume like a classic and timeless melody even if it didn't incorporate bits of "Waltzing Matilda," and he unveiled "Time" during his other encore. But much of the establish concentrated on his last four albums and his regrettable disposition of late to veer toward shtick.

Tom warned us of unspeakable horrors in "Don't travel Into That Barn," speculated about unnameable sins in "What's He Building in There" and hinted at unimaginable gore in "Murder in the R Barn." And the act got of advanced age Like the overrated M. Night Shyamalan of "The Village" and "Lady in the Water," you were in the way that sick of all the buildup that by means of the time you saw the actual marvel you couldn't help being a bit weary.

With its frantic roars of "lie to me baby," Waits' overspread of the great Howlin' Wolf's "Who's Been Talking" was a apportionment scarier and more effective than all the other horror-movie silliness. Along with "Tom Traubert's Blues" it was common of the stellar moments in a point out to that was otherwise merely nice good -- which would be easier to accept if we pondering we might have the chance to view the singer again before 2013

jimdero@jimdero.com

Copyright CHICAGO SUN-TIMES 2006

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